Giving In to You (The Giving Trilogy Book 1) by L.M. Carr

Author:L.M. Carr [Carr, L.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Self-Published
Published: 2015-05-18T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

OUR TREK UP TO Gillette Stadium in Foxboro to watch our beloved Patriots play is always a good time. Days like this are when I miss my dad the most. He was a lover of the game of football, but he was a diehard New England Patriots fan. I remember Sunday afternoons sitting on the flowered couch with my dad and Josh, each of us wearing our Pats gear from head to toe. It’s where I learned the game and fell in love with it. While some girls loved football for the tight pants and cute players, I was all about the game. The tight pants and cute players were definitely an added bonus, though.

We didn’t have much money growing up so when my dad won money from a two dollar scratch off ticket, he purchased Patriots season tickets for our family of four. Instead of watching the game on the couch, we sat in the nosebleed section and cheered. Since Josh moved away to Texas, I get to go to all the home games. If the team makes the playoffs, he flies up and we go together. It’s a win-win for everyone.

A few years ago, when the team moved to a new stadium, I was able to upgrade our tickets to the 50 yard line. Needless to say, I made a lot more friends with that. But it’s always the same group of close friends: Pete, Shelby, Mike, Shane and me. Pete and Shane sometimes had to compete for the fourth ticket.

Since Adam has his kids this weekend, we text back and forth sharing little details, building anticipation for the next time we see each other. To say he wasn’t thrilled that I didn’t give in and let him come over Thursday was an understatement. Adam Lawson isn’t a man who usually asks for things. Women are probably wrapped up nicely with a pretty bow, willingly offering themselves to be taken. I have been alone for a long time, counting on no one but myself. I’m not about to fall to the ground and worship at his feet. I might fall to my knees on the kitchen floor and worship something else, but you get my point.

The time I see him at work is brief. A spoken, cordial “hello” can be heard, but silent, lustful promises are made with our eyes. We text a lot—sometimes it’s during the day and I have to remind him that I’m supposed to be teaching. Other times it’s late at night when I’m relaxing with Brady.

I text him from the game, telling him where my seats are, and suggest that he should look for me on TV. My eyes blink in confusion when one of his texts included a selfie of him and the kids watching the Pats game on his gigantic, plasma TV. I was thrilled that he did that; he did what he always said he wouldn’t. He combined his kids and his flavor of the month which happens to be me at the moment.

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